


shut your ears when sirens sing

by liquidBenedryl



Series: this spectral veil holds you softly [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin is Really Bad at following the Jedi rules, Padawan Shenanigans, Street Racing, Tattooed Anakin, Tattoos, altruistic anakin, and doesn't care, he helps the lower levels of coruscant, longsuffering Obi-Wan, the Council hates Anakin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidBenedryl/pseuds/liquidBenedryl
Summary: Anakin Skywalker is either going to end up as the best Jedi Obi-Wan could ask for, or the absolute worst. In the meantime, he's going to drive Obi-Wan insane."It was a controlled falling exercise," Anakin says without hesitation.Obi-Wan gives him an incredulous look. "Anakin, youjumped off a building."
Series: this spectral veil holds you softly [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692439
Comments: 50
Kudos: 336





	shut your ears when sirens sing

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I read some of blackkat's works (who hasn't) and was like... the wandering Jedi really do have it right. Jedi are made to help others, and Anakin, being from a slave background where he would've killed for someone- anyone- to help him and the other slaves, would TOTALLY do anything he could to help others in bad situations.
> 
> Also, I just really want to bring the lower levels of Coruscant into detail, so the next installment of this series is going to involve more of that.
> 
> -Snippets of Tatooine Slave Culture (things like Ekkreth, color meanings to Anakin, the three moons of Tatooine, tzai, etc) credited to the fabulous Fialleril, who wrote works such as the Double Agent Vader series and Heretic Pride which I heavily suggest you read, because they're great

A Jedi must not have attachments, Master Yoda tells them during a lesson. Attachments can lead to jealousy, fear, and pride- these emotions can lead one to the Dark side, he says.

They say this, and yet-

How could a Padawan not become attached to their Master?

From the moment the Jedi Council accepted Anakin into the Temple, Obi-Wan has been the figure that Anakin’s life orbits around. Obi-Wan is the one who teaches him of the past and future, the one whose eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs at a horrible joke Anakin says, who tries to hide a grin as Anakin clings to his back in the halls.

How could Anakin not become attached to Obi-Wan, to the other Jedi his age, to the younglings who light up like the twin suns of Tatooine whenever he talks about his past?

How could he not be attached to Aayla, who insults his taste in foods just as often as she leans in and mutters commentary in class that makes him choke on inappropriate laughter.

It’s so confusing, Anakin thinks, all of eleven years old. They say no attachments, yet set each one of them in a situation where it’s unavoidable. He _knows_ that it isn’t just him; he sees the way Aayla beams under Master Quinlan’s gruff praise, watches Noham grin as Master Shaak Ti asks him what in the world could possess him to try climbing the shelves in the Archives.

“I don’t get it,” Anakin admits to Obi-Wan. “How can we be loyal and compassionate, yet not be allowed to have attachments?”

And Obi-Wan answers, automatic, “Attachments are forbidden because they can lead to emotions that we must avoid, such as…”

So Anakin stops listening, focusing instead on the echo of uncertainty in their training bond that isn’t from him.

 _Do you really believe that,_ he thinks, but knows better than to say.

~*~

A Jedi should not seek out adventure, Anakin thinks in the back of his mind as he grins sharply, whooping as his dented, old speeder car speeds past another racer.

He throws the steering to the right, revelling in the moment of unpredictability when his speeder tilts precariously around the sharp corner. Leans forward with a wild laugh as he approaches an altered XP-38, the Force curling around him and _singing_ with the rush.

Yeah, he’s _definitely_ ignoring that rule.

He and the XP stay neck and neck for a few long moments, trading quick glances as they push their engines to their limit. Anakin, in a move that is definitely abuse of the Force, reaches into the innards of his speeder to siphon off the heat emanating from it. His seat cools slightly, and he bares his teeth in a parody of a smile as he starts gaining ground-

A shout echoes out behind them, and Anakin yelps as a towering supply truck becomes visible in the smog ahead of them. Level 3202 of Coruscant is many things, but a place of clean, clear air it is not.

He and the XP swerve away from each other, zipping around the supplier- its horn blares deafeningly over the high-pitch whine of their engines.

Some sort of heavily modified speeder bikes are a few meters apart from each other, obviously in the same situation Anakin was just in- and there’s Rohan, the Twi’lek’s rich green and white skin an obvious indicator.

“Better speed it up!” Anakin shouts as he flies by.

A yell of outrage comes from behind him, and he snickers as he sees the finish point- there’s a group of observers loitering around, leaning against their own vehicles or, from a quick look, standing on top of them in some cases.

Anakin flashes past the finish, immediately decelerating as he drags his speeder sideways to avoid slamming into a trash chute that sticks up from the ground.

“Star’s end, Krayt, what in the hell is in that thing?” Ki calls as she jogs over, grinning widely.

Anakin takes a deep breath, falling out of the adrenaline-rush of racing mode as his car quiets to a dull buzz. He throws the redhead an exhilarated smile.

Krayt was the name he’d chosen when he first decided to venture into the lower levels of Coruscant; he knows that letting people know that he’s a Padawan could not only reflect badly on the Jedi, but also get him in _astronomical_ levels of trouble. He’d taken to watching cosmetic videos, carefully applying layers of makeup to his face to alter the shape just a bit, as well as adding more braids to his hair and tying it all back into a knot.

His outfit, to him, is what really changes his appearance the most- he hadn’t realized quite how thoroughly the robes they wore had marked them as Jedi until he had bought a few cheap outfits from thrift shops. Wearing padded pants and a simple jacket practically made him an entirely different person.

“That would be telling,” he deflects cheerfully, drifting slowly over to an out-of-the-way space to park.

Ki lets out a long suffering moan. “ _Krayt,_ come on, I won’t tell.”

It’s so clearly a lie that he outright laughs in her face.

She smirks at him, not even trying to defend herself. “Yeah, yeah, keep your secrets.”

“And so I will,” he intones dramatically, not quite dodging the smack to the back of the head she gives him.

Ki is the finance handler of this racing community- she’s the one that collects entry fees and hands out the rewards at the end. She and her boyfriend, Morik- a human who definitely has some pieces of other species, considering his purple eyes and rough, thick nails- are the two who practically run the whole show. They scout out locations, bring in new racers, and handle any problems that arise.

Anakin’s pretty sure that she’s only so friendly with him because he’s the one that wins these races over half the time.

“The little expert has shown his face!” Someone calls from the group of bystanders.

Anakin rolls his eyes. These people are so _dramatic,_ he thinks with amusement.

“Taller than you!” He calls in response, because it’s true. At almost seventeen, he’s taller than most of the people in this crowd. He hopes he’ll get even taller, because it’s hilarious making short jokes around Obi-Wan.

There’s an offended noise, drowned out by a cacophony of jeers as they all turn on the speaker. Ki taps Anakin’s shoulder, and he glances over, taking in her expression.

Obligingly, with the ease of habit, he takes the card that she slips him to put it in a hidden pocket on the inside of his jacket- his winnings for this race.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and she pats him on the back of his shoulder in response, turning to greet Morik as he wanders over from his bike.

This time, he manages to duck the hand that tries to slap the back of his head. He turns and gives Rohan a cheeky grin as the Twi’lek says, “You’re a _brat._ ”

“Yeah,” Anakin agrees sunilly, revelling in the irritated look it gets him.

Rohan opens his mouth, quick to continue the companionable arguing they’ve fallen into for the last year or so that Anakin’s been racing in similar streets as him, but the man pauses. He gives Anakin a long, considering look, and says, “You really should consider flying professionally.”

Anakin opens his mouth, scrambling for a response that won’t scream _I literally cannot, but thanks,_ without sounding suspicious, but Rohan puts a hand out to stop him. “Stop that, you look like I just asked you if you’re secretly a government spy. You don’t have to-”

“No, no,” Anakin interrupts, because really, he… trust is a strong word, but he’s familiar enough with Rohan that he knows the man wouldn’t knowingly hurt him. Unless it would help his little sister, but this definitely won’t. “My future’s pretty much already laid out for me,” he admits.

It’s a sobering thought, because of just how true it is. The Chosen One, the Council says. Destined to bring balance to the force- which as far as they’re concerned, means destroying the Dark side.

Even now, Anakin’s not sure that’s quite right.

Rohan raises his brows at him. “Strict parents?”

“Something like that,” Anakin answers wryly.

The man makes an amused, thoughtful sound, but doesn’t pursue it further. Thank Ekkreth, he thinks. “You joining us at Yin’s tonight?” He asks, referring to the corner restaurant up on 3245.

Anakin checks the mobile datapad he had sequestered away in an interior pocket. Damn, he thinks with a bit of surprise. 0400 already. He’s going to have to survive off of an hour and a half of sleep if Obi-Wan decides training is in order in the morning- it’s often a toss up with him after he gets back from diplomatic meetings.

“Can’t,” He answers, genuinely apologetic. “I have to be up early in the morning. I’m already going to be suffering as it is.”

“You don’t have to make excuses for me,” Rohan says, waving a hand dismissively. Around them, all the racers are talking, checking out new speeders and trading teasing and goodbyes. “I’ll tell Ki and Morik you had to go, when they ask.”

Anakin’s lips turn up, just slightly. _When,_ Rohan says, not _if,_ and even though he knows it’s true, it’s never stopped being touching. He’s learned, after years of meditation and refining his emotions, that he can admit to himself that he likes being wanted.

“Thanks, Rohan. Tell your sister I said hi, and not to break her NS again,” he says playfully, referring to the Nova-Screen gaming console- a handheld, two-screened version that Anakin had stopped by and fixed a few weeks ago.

Rohan gives him a bemused look. “Sure, I’ll tell her. See you next time, Krayt.”

Anakin gives a little wave as he trots off, tucking his datapad away as he goes. There’s a maglev train that comes by this level every five minutes or so, and goes by a convenient elevator on 3207.

He finds the mag strip after five minutes or so of wandering around, and goes to wait by it impatiently. When it comes, he hops over the rail to the path he’s on, clinging onto the side and wrestling the doors closest to him open- down here on this level, boarding maglevs like this is a frequent enough thing that there aren’t even any alarms or resistance as he forces it open and steps in.

After that, it’s a seven minutes wait before he hops out onto a conveniently placed overhang on 3207. He drops down onto an overpath, making his way over to the elevators.

He’ll have to visit down here soon, he thinks as he walks by a few homeless humans harassing a droid.

~*~

An unsaid rule that Jedi follow: the Jedi of the Temple should always ask the Council for permission to interfere in non-Jedi ongoing. Their approval is vital.

Anakin has never followed this rule completely.

When he first picked Krayt as his alias for street racing, it had been an almost absentminded thing; the Krayt dragon was a commonly known creature, for all that it lived only in the Outer Rim. To him, it has a bit more meaning, of course- in the culture Anakin was raised in, the Krayt Dragon was Ekkreth’s daughter, a being of brutal winds and freedom.

The point was, he had never planned for it to become a _known_ name in the Underworld.

He hadn’t set out with the intention of helping those of the lower levels, but the fact of the matter is that he came down here, saw the way they were living, and physically could not resist getting involved.

In his opinion, you should always help if you’re in the position to do so.

His face disguised under a layer of cosmetics, hair covered by the hood of his black jacket, he guides a young human girl- six, maybe seven years old- by the hand. She’s crying, huddled close to his legs as they walk.

“We’ll find your ma, don’t worry,” he says gently, smiling down at her. She looks up at him with wide, watery eyes, and clings harder to his hand, nodding hesitantly.

It’d probably be frowned upon if he told any of the Jedi, but it’s just much easier for him to stretch out his senses with the Force to find her. Family often has similar presences in the Force- which he often registers as feelings or scents, which according to Obi-Wan is odd. It’s a simple thing to feel out beings nearby, checking each individual.

“This way,” he tells her encouragingly, leading her into the next street. The girl’s mother is obvious once he gets close- there’s a certain fear and desperation to her that speaks of tearing worry.

“Ma’am!” He calls, and she turns to look at him- and freezes, eyes widening.

The little girl tears from his grasp and runs at her mother, who lurches forward at the same time, wrapping her daughter in a fierce hug. He can’t make out what she says, and doesn’t bother inching closer to hear; it isn’t his business, anyway.

The woman glances up at him, mouthing _thank you,_ her expression achingly relieved. He nods, smiling, and steps back into an alley, breathing a sigh.

It's not the first or the last time that he creeps around the lower levels- and unfortunately, not everything is as easy as a child who lost sight of their parents. He's interrupted plenty of muggings, beating down armed criminals with nothing but Nimdara- the fighting dance that many slaves would practice together in private time and places- and instinct to guide him. The first time he dropped down into an attempted rape, he had to restrain himself from beating the man bloody.

The sheer amount of crime and other problems down here is crazy. He knew, in a sort of absent way, that the top level of Coruscant was much, much different than the underbelly- that it was the cleanest, safest place on the planet. He just- he doesn't understand why no one is _doing_ anything about it. All but under five percent of his earnings from races go to others, now; he buys homeless folk dinner, he gives physical credits to citizens dressed in ragged clothing. Down into the 1000 levels, he even stops literal attempted _murders._

And he sees not a single Jedi.

The quiet, smoldering rage that it leaves in him isn't something that he will ever be able to let go of, he thinks.

~*~

It’s not explicitly said, and he isn’t even sure if it would get him into too much trouble if it was found out, but he has a feeling if Obi-Wan knew he got tattoos, Anakin would end up very dead.

“It’ll be _fine,_ ” Ki says reasurringly, “It doesn’t even hurt.”

Even though she’s completely mistaking the source of his worry, he still grins a bit. He appreciates her concern, really. “I know, Ki. As you’ve told me a hundred times.”

“Surely two hundred,” Morik says dryly, walking on Ki’s other side.

Ki makes a wounded sound, even as she moves to hold the door to the parlor open for the both of them. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side.”

Morik makes a bland, agreeable sound. “I’m on your side for important things.”

There’s a moment when Ki looks honestly touched. She gives the man a quick peck on the cheek, then turns and prods Anakin toward the desk where the tattoo artist is sitting, picking at their fingernails.

“Nuth!” Ki greets brightly.

The man grins crookedly. “Ki,” he says in return, looking over at Anakin and Morik. “More tattoos already? I certainly would never object.”

“Not for me, this time,” she replies. She gives Anakin a little nudge, and he huffs, stepping forward. “The kid is getting them this time.”

Nuth glances over Anakin consideringly- usually, such a lookover would make his skin crawl, but this doesn’t feel like a judgement, but rather like an artist considering a canvas.

Mortifyingly, he feels a slight flush rise to his cheeks. Nuth is a decent looking guy- early twenties, by the look of him, with long blue hair tied back in a tail and a set of angled, dark green eyes.

“He’ll do,” Nuth says slyly. He _definitely_ noticed the blush, he thinks with embarrassment. Oh, well.

Ki looks between them, entertained.

Nuth, apparently taking mercy on him before Ki can say anything, asks, “You know what you want?”

Anakin opens his mouth, then closes it. An answer rises in his mind immediately- Ki’s been trying to get him to accompany her to get a tattoo since he was sixteen, so he’s thought about it extensively. “Have you ever seen Tatooine’s moons?”

Nuth raises his brows at him, looking genuinely startled. “No. That what you want? I can work off a picture.”

When he had first considered which tattoos he could get when Ki brought it up, he had thought of the suns, but- night had always meant safety and freedom, to him, and even though he’s locked in the rules of the Jedi Order now, he’s certainly not a slave. A symbol of both his heritage and his freedom, displayed proudly across his back, had appealed to him as soon as he thought of it.

“Yeah,” Anakin answers, nodding. “I have some pictures on my ‘pad, give me a second.”

He draws up the image, the red, blue, and teal tinted moons in clear high definition.

They discuss prices, position, sizes, and go through the color index. There’s no paperwork- basically any level below 4600 doesn’t really care for that sort of thing. Money is money, after all.

He ends up having to come back for a second session, and it takes hours of lying on a table with his back uncomfortably exposed, but the end result is worth it- Ghomrassen, red tinted, the biggest of the three, with Chenini in teal and Guermessa in a rich blue. Ghomrassen covers his entire right shoulderblade, with the other two slightly lower, one on each side of his spine.

 _Obi-Wan is going to kill me,_ he thinks as he cranes his head around to look at them in his mirror of his bathroom. He doesn't feel very concerned about it, really.

Oh well. At least they don’t share a bathroom, like they did before Anakin turned fourteen.

~*~

There’s a generally acknowledged agreement that Jedi aren’t supposed to interact in close ways with people outside the Order.

This is sort of like a follow-up to the whole _no attachments_ deal.

Anakin, who is already in the habit of breaking rule after rule in the Jedi Order, decides that he’s pretty sick of wondering what Padmé is up to, and should just ask her.

It takes him a few days of fiddling during his free time, but making a private connection in the Jedi Temple isn’t very hard when you’re one of the main staff members that works on the technology in it.

 ** _Angel?_** Is the first message he sends her- vague enough that if the connection wasn’t as concealed as he thought, it’ll be safe, but obvious enough that Padmé, at least, should know who it is.

 **_Ani._ ** is the response that he sees the next day. Excitement makes his breath catch, and he grins, reading on. **_It’s been so long._ **

~*~

“You got _tattoos?_ ” She asks a few weeks later, sounding impressed.

At this point, he’s managed to secure them a private line for holotransievers- the cheap kind, granted, that don’t just pick out biological signatures, but the surroundings around the person as well. It makes for odd angles.

Anakin, slouching against the wall his bed is set against in his quarters, pauses in his rant of the crazy shit Ki keeps trying to convince him to do. “Oh, yeah.”

She gives him an exasperated look, like she expected him to- oh, right, duh.

“It’s Tatooine’s moons,” he explains. “On my back.”

Padmé, squished in the corner of an L-couch, looks at him curiously. “Can I see?”

Anakin shrugs. “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

He’s already in the process of taking off his shirt when he thinks, _wow_ , isn’t this supposed to be a bit weird? He’s honest enough with himself to know that Padmé is very attractive to him, even if she doesn’t feel the same about him.

He thinks he’s supposed to be upset about that thought, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d be too cut up if she didn’t.

With a huff, he shoves thoughts of embarrassment aside. It’s just tattoos, and he’s been shirtless around Aayla (before the tattoos, at least- he always keeps an undershirt on now) enough that he doesn’t necessarily shy away from girls. He takes his outer robe off, then his undershirt, and turns so Padmé can see his back.

She makes a quiet, surprised sound. “They’re pretty,” she says, and Anakin preens a bit. “Are they in color?”

“Yeah,” he answers, “the permacolor kind. Shouldn’t fade until I’m hunched and graying.” He glances over his shoulder at her. She’s leaned in closer to the holotransiever, eyes tracing over his back.

He fights down a blush, praying that he won’t be so easily flustered when they meet in person. He thinks he’d actually just die, right on the spot. He _knows_ how obvious it is when he blushes.

“Got an eyeful?” He asks with a teasing grin before he can think better of it.

Padmé rolls her eyes, but without her makeup, he can see the faint hint of red to her cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, pretty boy, put your shirt back on.”

He turns, sniggering, and hears a choked off sound as he faces the transeiver. He glances up, confused- to see Padmé leaning back against the cushions of her couch and staring at the ceiling with a strained look on her face.

“Padmé?” He asks hesitantly. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she answers in a strangled voice.

He gives her a doubtful look, but lets her have her way, sliding his shirt back on. “So, anyway, Rohan heard about the tattoos, and he just gave me this disappointed look, like I said an S4 engine would be great in his bike instead of just saying I got tattoos- like, what did he think? That I got something dumb?”

“That would’ve been pretty funny,” Padmé says with amusement.

“It would’ve been,” he agrees immediately. Just thinking of Obi-Wan’s reaction if he had gotten something stupid like some sort of misspelled quote would be worth the pain of living with it. “But no, apparently Ki pulls that sort of thing all the time- convincing racers to come get tattoos after a race.”

“You should record one of your races for me,” she interjects suddenly.

“Really? I figured you’d be against that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Street racing.”

She makes a disagreeing noise. “I trust you not to hurt yourself. I’ve seen you pilot before, Anakin- I hardly expect you to crash. You have the-” she makes a hand-wavey motion, “Force thing.”

“Force thing,” he echoes laughingly. “Yeah, okay, I’ll record the next time I join in.”

“Thank the Maker,” she breathes. “I get that Senators are destined for a lot of deskwork and media, but sometimes it just gets so _boring._ ”

“Senator Amidala, calling her job boring? _Slander._ ”

“That’s what Naboo would certainly think if they heard me say it.”

“That means you’re good at it.”

“You think so?” She asks, sounding hopeful.

He blinks, surprised. He hadn’t realized she was worried about that- from all he’s read and watched on the net, Padmé’s been a great Senator for Naboo. “Of course, Padmé. The only bad things about you on the holonet are fake scandals.”

She’s quiet for a moment, slouching until she’s lying down on the couch, the holotransiever resting on her belly. “You know that someone dragged up a relationship I had as a teen in the Youth Program here?”

Anakin eyes her. He has no idea what he’s supposed to say to that. “Was it true?”

“Yes,” she says, sounding frustrated. “I just- the press wouldn’t stop bothering him about it. I felt bad.”

“Did he say it bothered him?”

“Well, yes-”

“Did he say that he _blamed_ you for it?”

She purses her lips. “No.”

“Then don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Deliberately, she raises a hand and lightly taps her fist against her cheek.

“Oh my stars, Padmé.”

~*~

Anakin is getting sick enough of taking elevators down thousands of levels of city that he’s actually considering just throwing himself into one of the portals and just falling for a while to get to where he wants to go.

Which brings him here, crouching on the edge of a balcony high up one of the Temple towers, squinting down at the distant ground and wondering if he’ll just straight up fucking die if he falls that sort of distance.

That would be so embarassing. The Chosen One, death by falling.

Or maybe they’d think it was a suicide.

His skin crawls with the thought.

 _Alright, morbid thoughts, kriff off_ , he thinks sternly. This is supposed to be fun. It’s a _controlled falling_ exercise, he tells himself. Training. Just training.

He tips forward a bit, then immediately leans back, heart pounding.

He’s totally going to do this. He _is._ It’ll be _easy._

He takes a deep breath, thinking of the instinctive fear eating at him, then breathes out, closing his eyes. Lets it drift off into the Force and leave him the hell alone.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, hoping that everyone else, at least, went to sleep at a reasonable time and won’t see his body hurtling past their window.

One more fortifying breath, and he leaps off, not letting himself hesitate, or else common sense would make him reconsider.

It is pants-shittingly terrifying.

The ground approaches way, _way_ faster than he had thought it would, and it leaves him scrambling for the Force, terror exploding in his head. _Holy shit,_ he thinks. _Holy shit holyshit holyshitholyshit-_

And the Force catches him, slowing him perfectly, like that was totally the plan all along.

“Oh my god, are you fucking with me?” He breathes, voice trembling almost as bad as his legs. As soon as he touches the ground, he’s sinking to lay on the duracrete, gasping for breath.

The Force shivers around him. He gets the impression he’s being laughed at.

“Lesson learned,” he says in a shaky voice. “Thinking first, acting later.”

The training bond screeches in alarm at him.

Oh, no. Oh, damn. He’s so, so dead. Because-

Obi-Wan _definitely_ felt that.

Not even five minutes later, Obi-Wan is racing toward him, worry emanating from him like steam. Abruptly, Anakin feels very guilty.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts as soon as Obi-Wan gets close.

“What in the _Force_ was that, Anakin?” Obi-Wan demands, looking over him frantically.

“I- uh. Jumped off the tower to see if I could catch myself after a long fall?”

It sounds. It sounds _so kriffing dumb_ now that he’s said it out loud. _I’m such a dumbass,_ he thinks with despair.

Obi-Wan stares at him. He is so filled with disbelief he literally can’t speak. Anakin cringes. “ _Why._ ”

“It was a controlled falling exercise,” he says without thinking about it, because, well. That’s what he told himself it was before he hurled himself off a building, several thousand feet in the air.

Obi-Wan gives him an incredulous look. “Anakin, you _jumped off a building._ ”

“It seemed like a better idea before I did it.”

“ _Obviously!_ ” Obi-Wan shouts, balling up his hands like he’s going to play Aayla’s favorite game: Let’s Strangle Anakin Skywalker.

That’s fair, Anakin thinks. He’d want to strangle him too.

Anakin stares blankly up at his Master, rising shakily to his feet. Even now, over five minutes after he did it, the adrenaline still hasn’t left him completely.

“It was very dumb,” Anakin says slowly, “and I am super sorry for freaking you out, but also- I _did_ manage to do it.”

Obi-Wan makes a face that clearly says that maybe his life would be easier right now if he _hadn’t_ managed it. Because he has more self control than Anakin, he doesn’t say it. Anakin is impressed. “You are going to meditate for _two hours in the morning,_ ” he says instead, and Anakin really wishes he had died, now.

"Yes, Master," he agrees despondently. Is it possible for life threatening experiences and probably dangerous levels of adrenaline to cause you to die quietly in your sleep? He hopes so.

He’s still going to throw himself down a couple thousand levels later this week. He didn’t pull this suicidal stunt for nothing, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> please dear god give me feedback, I live off of it. did I get something wrong? am I just an actual dumbass and used the entire wrong word somewhere? gods know i didn't reread this after typing it, because i would've decided i didn't like it and rewrite the whole thing again.
> 
> also: hey i have a tumblr it's literally called liquidBenedryl so come bully me about updating or give me ideas idfk. literally do what you want like, throw in some headcanons and shit. i need ideas for anakin's armor, and i'm going to do an alternate scene where he gets his scar because he'll be wearing. y'know, armor. so it'll throw Ventress, our favorite angery gal, off


End file.
